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Is interfaith dialogue relevant in troubled times?

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Brighton and Hove Interfaith Contact Group AGM
19 April 2026

Brighton and Hove Interfaith Contact Group AGM

19 April 2026

Is interfaith dialogue relevant in troubled times?

My response to the question that has been put to us in a nutshell:

Interfaith dialogue is essential in troubled times. It is essential for at least four reasons:

Because the history of the major religions is a history of domination and subjugation, of the persecution of the marginal and vulnerable by the powerful.

Because so many of the conflicts that scar the world today are fuelled by religious hatred.

Because so many people of all faiths believe that their truth is the only truth.

Because the hatred between different religious groups is fostered by ignorance of other faiths, and a lack of contact with people of other faiths.

The only antidote to conflict and division between faiths is for people of faith to encounter one another. For forty years, I have been fortunate to be engaged in interfaith encounters with Christians and with Muslims, in which participants have demonstrated a commitment to learning about one another. In my new book, Breaking Binaries. A progressive Rabbi engages with contemporary issues,[1] I devote a chapter to interfaith dialogue in which I speak of ‘journeying in the borderland’. The interfaith encounters I have experienced were profound because those involved were prepared to move from the centre of their respective traditions to a borderland, a marginal terrain occupied by those who participate in interfaith work. It is a marginal terrain because in order to engage in interfaith encounter, individuals have to be prepared to move from the centre ground of their faith or tradition to the edge, to the borderland between the faiths and traditions. In that borderland, each participant with their experiences, convictions, and assumptions is in a position to look over the border to the land of the other, with their experiences, convictions, and assumptions. The hope is that those who have inhabited this borderland will think and act differently about their own faith and tradition and the faith and traditions of others when they return to their own country, aware that truths are plural and perspectives are multiple.

During the twenty years that I ministered as rabbi to Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue, I was a member of the Executive of the Brighton and Hove Interfaith Contact Group. In addition to focusing on my experience of in-depth Jewish-Christian and Jewish-Christian-Muslim encounter, the interfaith chapter in my new book also highlights the importance of dialogue at the local level, which is exemplified by the excellent work of the IFCG. To mark my impending retirement as rabbi of Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue, with the COVID-19 pandemic still raging, the Executive held a zoom event in February 2021. These are the thoughts I shared that evening about what my experience has taught me about the ingredients of meaningful interfaith encounter. The ingredients are:[2] Listening; Sharing; Giving; Receiving; Acknowledging and respecting our differences; Caring, both, in the sense of caring for one another, and taking care in how we communicate with one another; Learning; Celebrating.

Listening

As we all know, listening is not the same as hearing, which is a physical capacity. Listening means paying attention. It means making space in one’s head to take in the experience of the other; what they are saying about themselves. So many of us have assumptions and projections about the other. Listening involves absorbing and processing what another person has to say about themselves in their own terms.

Sharing

When we are engaging with people of other faiths, it is so important that we do not just listen, but are also prepared to speak and share our truths, our understandings, our experiences. If we are not prepared to share and enable someone to listen to us, then encounter cannot take place. Of course, such sharing requires trust, mutual trust.

Giving

Giving is related to sharing, but unlike sharing, which can be motivated by our own needs, giving is usually a response to the needs of others, rather than the need to express ourselves. Giving requires generosity of spirit and a preparedness to forge, maintain, and cherish relationships. It is an essential aspect of interfaith encounter.

Receiving

Some people who are prepared to give to the other, find it more difficult to receive from the other. But, without the willingness to receive, giving can become a form of condescension. A fundamental component of interfaith encounter has to be equality. That does not mean that the parties to the encounter are treated equally in society at large. The experiences of someone who is part of majority culture are very different from those of someone who is part of a minority, in particular, a minority that has been subject to persecution and abuse. Nevertheless, for interfaith encounter to be a genuine exchange, we need to consciously meet one another as equals.

Acknowledging and respecting our differences

When people of different faiths meet, there is often a powerful urge to look beyond our differences and find common ground. We want to look at the other and say, ’how wonderful, we are really the same’. Of course, it is true. Thinking in religious terms, as we read in Genesis chapter 1.27, each human being is an image of God, and so we are essentially, the same. But our urge to look for similarities can often overlook important differences. Often, what we are doing is trying to find ourselves in the other, a reflection of ourselves, so the other feels less other, less alien. But, when we do this, we are not so much encountering the other as trying to bolster up our own sense of ourselves.

Perhaps the most important thing I have learnt from four decades of interfaith work is to value the differences between us. The differences that make us who we are as Jews, Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, Buddhists, Pagans, alongside all the different denominations within each faith or religious grouping. Interfaith encounter is successful when it enables us to acknowledge our differences and respect our differences while recognising our common humanity.

Caring – both, in the sense of caring for one another, and taking care in how we communicate with one another

Caring for one another is essential to interfaith encounter. If we do not care for one another, then we will not care to do the work of listening, sharing, giving, receiving, and acknowledging and respecting our differences. The other aspect of caring that is equally important and is actually fundamental to our capacity to care for one another is taking care in how we communicate with one another. Taking care in this way, encompasses the language we use, the way in which we refer to each other’s religions and faiths, and the way in which we talk about our own. For example, speaking from my own personal experience, when someone who is a Christian, talks to me about the ‘Old Testament’, rather than the ‘Hebrew Bible’ or the ‘Hebrew Scriptures’, however friendly they are to me, they demonstrate a lack of care. Taking care involves informing oneself. ‘Old Testament’ means ‘Old Covenant’, an appellation that carries the understanding that the ‘Old’ has been superseded by the ‘New’. Speaking of the ‘Hebrew Bible’ or the ‘Hebrew Scriptures’ is also a way of acknowledging the primary sacred text of the Jewish people on its own terms. For those who wish to refer to the Hebrew Bible in relation to the ‘New Testament’, the best term to use is ‘First Testament’.

Learning

People sometimes think of interfaith encounter as a quest for ‘understanding’. Of course, we may grow to understand one another, but that is an outcome of the work we do together. Interfaith work involves learning about one another. I have used the word ‘work’ a few times. In Hebrew, sacred work is spoken of in the language of ‘service’, Avodah. Interfaith encounter requires work: sacred service, avodah, service to one another, and ultimately, service to the Eternal that is within and beyond us.

Celebrating

When we can enter the borderland between us and celebrate together, celebrate what we share and also celebrate our differences, then we know that we are engaged in a real encounter.

Of all the ingredients of transformative interfaith encounter, perhaps the most important is learning. Being open to learning from and about the other involves us in moving towards the other and into a liminal space between the clearly demarcated borders of each faith. Let us hope that, as humanity faces so many global challenges in the coming years, not least climate change, the abuse of ‘faith’ as a vehicle for dominating and supplanting others, may be replaced by borderland encounters between people of different faiths, religions, traditions, and cultures, for the sake of all our lives and the planet which is our shared inheritance.

And a final thought: Rabbi Lionel Blue, Zikhrono livrakhah, may his memory be for blessing, my tutor and ordaining rabbi, who was one of the founders of the Jewish-Christian-Muslim conferences in Germany, was at his happiest when he was engaged in interfaith encounter. Rabbi Blue, used to say: ‘Judaism is my religious home, it is not my religious prison’.[3] How can we really learn about one another and the religious homes we inhabit, if we are not prepared to leave our familiar surroundings and venture into the unknown? If we are not prepared to discover what makes another person’s heart sing, what motivates their devotion, what inspires them, and what gives them consolation? Ultimately, what makes interfaith engagement vital in our troubled world in these troubled times is that, rather than difference being divisive, it can enable us to share our particular passions and truths and become more whole in the encounter with one another.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

  1. Sarah, Elli Tikvah. 2026. Breaking Binaries. A progressive rabbi engages with contemporary issues. Seaford: Unusual Publications ↑

  2. Brighton and Hove Interfaith Contact Group gathering via Zoom, 16 February 2021. I have edited out references to IFCG activities. ↑

  3. Sadly, Rabbi Lionel Blue died in 2016. My tribute to him is included along with the tributes of others in a special issue of European Judaism (2018). Rabbi Lionel Blue Memorial Issue, 51(1), Spring. https://www.jstor.org/stable/e48504771 (Accessed: 10 November 2025). ↑

Retirement Address – IFCG Zoom Meeting

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Dearest Friends,

It’s so very kind of you to arrange this Zoom hour with me – in particular, since the ongoing coronavirus crisis and the additional demands it has placed on me in my role as Rabbi has meant that I’ve not been able to attend executive meetings for several months.

I would like to say a few words about why I think Interfaith work is so important.

I don’t know whether I’ve ever told you this but it was an integral part of my five-year postgraduate training as a rabbi at Leo Baeck College in London, and included travelling to Germany twice a year for in-depth and intense eight-day Jewish Christian Muslim conferences.

In my view and on the basis of my experience, there are eight important dimensions to Interfaith encounter, all of which involve active engagement:

  1. Listening
  2. Sharing
  3. Giving
  4. Receiving
  5. Acknowledging and respecting our differences
  6. Caring – both, in the sense of caring for one another, and taking care in how we communicate with one another.
  7. Celebrating
  8. Learning

Let me say a little bit about what I mean by each of these dimensions of Interfaith encounter.

  1. Listening

As we all know, listening is not the same as hearing – which is a physical capacity. Listening means paying attention. It means making space in one’s head to take in the experience of the other; what they are saying about themselves. So many of us have assumptions and projections about the other. Listening involves absorbing and processing what another person has to say about themselves in their own terms.

  1. Sharing

When we are engaging with people of other faiths, it’s so important that we don’t just listen, but are also prepared to speak and share our truths, our understandings, our experiences. If were not prepared to share and enable someone to listen to us, then encounter can’t take place. Of course, such sharing requires trust, mutual trust.

  1. Giving

Giving is related to sharing, but unlike sharing, which can be motivated by our own needs, giving is usually a response to the needs of others, rather than the need to express ourselves. Giving requires generosity of spirit and a preparedness to forge, maintain and cherish relationships. It is an essential aspect of Interfaith encounter.

  1. Receiving

Some people who are prepared to give to the other, find it more difficult to receive from the other. But without the willingness to receive, giving can become a form of condescension. A fundamental component of Interfaith encounter has to be equality. That doesn’t mean that the parties to the encounter are treated equally in society at large. The experiences of someone who is part of majority culture are very different from those of someone who is part of a minority, in particular, a minority that has been subject to persecution and abuse. Nevertheless, for interfaith encounter to be a genuine exchange, we need to consciously meet one another as equals.

  1. Acknowledging and respecting our differences

When people of different faiths meet, there is often a powerful urge to look beyond our differences and find common ground. We want to look at the other and say, ’how wonderful, we are really the same’. Of course, it’s true. Thinking in religious terms, as we read in Genesis chapter 1 (:27), each human being is an image of God, and so we are essentially, the same. But our urge to look for similarities can often overlook important differences. Often, what we are doing is trying to find ourselves in the other; a reflection of ourselves, so the other feels less other, less alien. But when we do this, we are not so much encountering the other as trying to bolster up your own sense of ourselves. Perhaps the most important thing I have learnt from 37 years of interfaith work is to value the differences between us. The differences that make us who we are as Jews, Christians, Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, Buddhists, Pagans, and so on – and all the denominations within each faith or religious grouping. Interfaith encounter is successful when it enables us to acknowledge our differences and respect our differences while recognising our common humanity.

  1. Caring – both, in the sense of caring for one another, and taking care in how we communicate with one another

Caring for one another is so essential to interfaith encounter. If we don’t care one another then we won’t care to do the work of listening, sharing, giving, receiving, and acknowledging and respecting our differences. One of the loveliest things about the Brighton and Hove Interfaith Contact Group is the way that it has fostered a spirit of caring amongst those who participate in its activities; caring that manifests itself in a readiness to offer support and be there for one another. The other aspect of caring that is equally important and is actually fundamental to our capacity to care for one another is taking care in how we communicate with one another. Taking care in this way, encompasses the language we use, the way in which we refer to each other’s religions and faiths, and the way in which we talk about our own. For example, speaking from my own personal experience, when someone who is a Christian, talks to me about the ‘Old Testament’ rather than the ‘Hebrew Bible’ or the ‘Hebrew Scriptures’, however friendly they are to me, they demonstrate a lack of care.

  1. Celebrating

When we can celebrate together, celebrate what we share and also celebrate our differences, then we know that we are engaged in a real encounter. The annual Interfaith service and other events that have been organised by the IFCG over the years are good examples of celebrating together.

  1. Learning

People sometimes think about interfaith encounter as a quest for ‘understanding’. Of course, we may grow to understand one another, but that is an outcome of the work we do together. Interfaith work involves learning about one another. I’ve used the word ‘work’ a few times. In Hebrew, sacred work is spoken of in the language of service, Avodah. Interfaith encounter requires work; sacred service; avodah; service to one another, and ultimately, service to the Eternal that is within and beyond us.

 

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton & Hove Interfaith Contact Group gathering via Zoom

16 February 2021 – 5th Adar 5781

The World Stands on Justice, Truth & Peace – Sussex University

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Peace demands Justice and Truth

Everyone – except the most malevolent – wants world peace. But how do we achieve it?

The Hebrew Bible is full of powerful statements about shalom, peace. Both Jews and Christians often quote the text found in the Book of Isaiah[1] and also in the Book of Micah[2], which looks to a time in the future when ‘they shall beat their swords into ploughshares and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, and they shall learn war no more.’ These famous words express an ideal state – but they also say something very real about what it takes to create peace: That, like making war, it demands energy and effort – all that beating of metal – and involves learning the ways of peace. And Micah adds something else – a vision of the peaceful life that is also very instructive: ‘Rather, everyone shall sit under their vine and under their fig-tree and none shall terrorise them’[3]. Creating peace involves making it possible for everyone to create prosperity and to live in security. Peace is not an end but a new beginning.

Significantly, many of the references to peace in the Bible connect peace to justice. Several passages in the biblical Book of Isaiah, for example, indicate that peace and justice are inextricably linked. We read, for example, in Isaiah chapter 32, verse 17:

For the work of justice shall be peace; and the service of justice, quietness and security forever.

[Hayah ma’aseh ha-tz’dakah shalom; va-avodat ha-tz’dakah hashkeit va-vetach ad olam.]

And so, working for peace involves working for justice – and indeed, pursuing both: In the Torah, in the Book of Deuteronomy, in a section dealing with the laws of justice, we read at chapter 16, verse 20: ‘Justice, justice, you shall pursue’ [Tzedek, tzedek tirdof]. And the Psalmist declares in Psalm 34, verse 15: ‘Turn away from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it’ [Sur mei-ra va-aseih-tov; bakeish shalom v’rodfeihu]. The word, ‘pursue’, in Hebrew, [indicated by the three consonants, Reish Dalet Pei,] conveys a sense of urgency, as it does in English. In Hebrew syntax, it is usual for the verb to come first, and so, in the verse, ‘Justice, justice, you shall pursue’ [Tzedek, tzedek tirdof], the tone of urgency is heightened, not only by the repetition of the word, Justice, tzedek, but also by the word order: Justice, justice, you shall pursue.’ Meanwhile, the repetition of ‘justice’ suggests something else, impartiality: where two parties are involved, pursuing justice for the one also necessitates pursuing justice for the other.

So, peace cannot be separated from justice – and both require us to actively pursue them. To understand the relationship between the two more deeply, and the conditions necessary for people to make peace, I’m going to turn now to a key teaching found in the collection of rabbinic wisdom that is appended to the first code of rabbinic law, the Mishnah edited around the year 200 CE:[4]

The world stands on three things: on justice, and on truth and on peace.

[Al sh’loshah d’varim ha-olam omeid: al ha-din, v’al ha-emet, v’al ha-shalom].

This brief statement deepens our awareness of the connection between peace and justice, while making another powerful assertion. Both peace and justice are inextricably connected with truth. Indeed, the world stands on all three together – conjuring up an image of pillars, which suggests that if just one pillar were removed, the world would collapse.

‘The world stands on three things: on justice, and on truth and on peace’ – and so, there can be no justice without truth and peace, no truth without justice and peace, no peace without justice and truth. That is the challenge before all of us – before all humanity. To understand the challenge more fully, it helps to have a sense of the Hebrew meanings of these three pillars of the world.

Justice

There are four words for justice in the Bible and rabbinic literature. The text before us speaks of ‘din’. Din conveys justice in the sense of the legal system for executing justice, and in the Bible, we also find another word that plays a similar role, mishpat [based on the three consonants, Shin Pei Tet, meaning to judge]. The ‘judges’ of the Bible were the shof’tim, a related word based on the same root. The Bible also uses two other related words for justice, tzedek and tz’dakah [which are both based on the three-letter root: Tzadi Dalet Kuf]. And so, as I indicated a moment ago, we read in Deuteronomy chapter 16, verse 20, in the context of a passage dealing with how the system of justice is to be administered: ‘Justice, Justice – Tzedek, tzedek – you shall pursue’. And then, in Deuteronomy chapter 24, in a section dealing with economic justice, we read at verse 13 that when giving a loan, returning a garment taken as a pledge before sunset is an act of tz’dakah – justice. While the words tzedek and tz’dakah relate to the individual’s responsibility to act justly, the words din and mishpat focus on the legal system that creates a framework governed by rules of impartiality, which regulates the conduct of individuals, and attempts to ensure that the stronger members of the society come to the aid of the more vulnerable and dependent members of the society – designated in the Torah, in particular, as ‘the stranger, the orphan and the widow’[5] (in that order).

In British society we speak of a ‘fair’ system of justice. From a Jewish legal point of view, fairness is not only about impartiality – for example, as it says in the Torah, not favouring the rich on the one hand or the poor on the other[6] – it is also about correcting inequalities. And so, the pursuit of justice, tzedek, involves what we now call ‘redistributive justice’. While charity – from the Latin word caritas – suggests an act of kindness that expresses our loving feelings towards others, the Hebrew equivalent, tz’dakah, connotes an act of justice that we are obligated to perform in favour of the poor and the needy. The point about tz’dakah is that we are supposed to do it even when we don’t feel charitable.

Truth

And what of truth? As soon as we use the word truth in our post-modern society, we are aware that truth is not quite as absolute as it once seemed. In a British Court of Law, a witness must speak ‘the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth’ – but nevertheless truth is subjective as well as objective, and the witness speaks the truth as they understand it. The Hebrew word for ‘truth’ – and, interestingly, there is only one word – is emet. Emet is based on the same root [Alef Mem Nun – meaning to confirm or support] from which we derive the word ‘Amen’ – pronounced ‘Amein’ in Hebrew. And so, when we respond to a prayer with the word ‘Amen’, we are basically indicating our support or affirmation for the sentiments expressed – as if we were saying: ‘I agree!’ Or: ‘So may it be!’ – with an exclamation mark. Similarly, the word emet has a sense of affirmation about it. Truth becomes firm and solid when we affirm it. Just as justice requires action and a system of regulation, so truth requires acknowledgement. And so, where there are competing truths, the challenge becomes: how can I affirm my own truth and also, acknowledge the truth of the other person? Justice is not possible while we remain unable or unwilling to acknowledge that we are not the sole guardians of ‘The Truth’.

Peace

Like truth and justice, peace is a much-used word that carries with it a significant, additional freight of meaning in Hebrew. The word we translate as ‘peace’ – shalom – is based on a root [Shin Lamed Mem] meaning to be complete or sound. And so, a related word, shaleim, means ‘wholeness.’ Peace is not the same as ‘tranquillity’, shalvah, or ‘quiet’, sheket; and peace is not simply the absence of war or violence: peace is a state of completeness. A passage in the biblical Book of Leviticus – chapter 5, verse 16 – speaks of a person committing a wrong, being obliged to make restitution, or reparation, using a verbal form of the root – y’shalleim. And so, making peace involves putting right what is wrong, in order that that what is broken may be repaired and become whole again.

The notion of ‘making whole’, reinforces the connection between peace and justice. In the Torah, in the Books of Exodus, Leviticus and Deuteronomy, the rules of justice, encompass all aspects of society, including economic behaviour. Interestingly, in this regard, while Leviticus chapter 19 speaks of the need for ‘just’ balances, weights and measures – using the word tzedek, Deuteronomy chapter 25, expresses the same teaching, emphasising the requirement of justice, by adding the word, sh’leimah, ‘whole’. And so, we read at verse 15: ‘You shall have whole and just weights; whole and just measures’ [Even sh’leimah va-tzedek yihyeh lach; eifah sh’leimah va-tzedek yihyeh lach]. Incidentally, the verb to ‘have’ doesn’t exist in Hebrew, so the literal translation of the verse is: ‘a weight whole and just [there] shall be to you; a measure whole and just [there] shall be to you.’

So, peace, shalom, suggests, ‘wholeness’, shaleim – and so, also, ‘well-being’ and ‘welfare’. That is why the Hebrew greeting, when people meet is ‘Shalom’. There is a telling example in the Book of Exodus that centres on the greeting of ‘Peace’, which illustrates beautifully the potential for peaceful relationships of respect and integrity between different peoples. When Moses is about to leave Midian and return to Egypt on a mission to persuade Pharaoh to liberate the slaves, his father-in-law, Jethro, the Priest of Midian, says to him, lech l’shalom – ‘go in peace’[7] – or, rather, more literally, ‘go for peace’ l’shalom – that is, for the sake of peace. Later, after the slaves have made their grand Exodus, Jethro comes to Sinai – the site of the impending Revelation – to wish Moses well, before returning again to his own land. We read that when ‘Moses went out to meet his father-in-law, he bowed low, and kissed him; and each man enquired about his friend’s welfare’ –or, rather, more literally, ‘They enquired, each man of his friend, for the sake of peace’ [Va-yishalu ish-l’rei’eihu l’shalom].[8]

Yes, Moses and Jethro were ‘friends.’ But more than this: the word rei’a friend, also means ‘neighbour’ – as in and in Leviticus chapter 19, verse 18: ‘you shall love your neighbour as yourself’. And even more significantly: Jethro – as all the references to him emphasise – was Moses’ father-in-law. When Moses became the ‘groom’ – chatan – of Tzipporah; Jethro became his ‘father-in-law’, chotein. Both words chatan, ‘groom’, and chotein, ‘father-in-law’, are based on a root [Cheit Tav Nun] meaning to ‘make an alliance’. When Moses married Tzipporah, the Israelites and the Midianites entered an alliance, a relationship rooted in establishing peace between them.

Justice-Truth-Peace

Of course, marriage is not the only way to build bridges between peoples. What this narrative about Moses, Jethro and Tzipporah teaches us, above all, is that it is possible to forge relationships of respect and integrity across cultural, religious, ethnic and racial divides and so create the conditions for justice, truth and peace to flourish.

It is possible – but it is also a tall order! We only have to think about the major conflicts raging in the world today. But nevertheless, the Hebrew meanings of justice, truth and peace help us to identify the connections between these three pillars of the world. They also suggest the steps we need to take to be in a position to make peace – or, rather, suggest how we might go about hewing the stones for the pillars, and preparing the foundations to set them in place.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Sussex University One World Week

19th March 2020

  1. Isaiah 2:2-4. ↑

  2. Micah 4:1-3. ↑

  3. Micah 4:4a. ↑

  4. Pirkei Avot 1:18 ↑

  5. Deuteronomy 24:17. ↑

  6. Deuteronomy 16:19; Leviticus 19:15. ↑

  7. Exodus 4:18. ↑

  8. Exodus 18:7. ↑

IFCG Tree of Life Interfaith Service

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Friends, it’s a pleasure to be here participating, once again, in the annual Interfaith service organised by the Brighton and Hove Interfaith Contact Group. Every time we come together from across the city, my spirit is lifted by the spirit of hope, goodwill and mutual respect that we generate in these gatherings. It is vital that we nurture that spirit within us and between us and share it with others tomorrow and the day after, and the day after that. The Brexit debate has divided this nation for over three years now and the threat of climate change puts all our reserves of hopefulness to the test. Meanwhile, the global refugee crisis demands that we continue to welcome those in need of refuge with open hearts and resist the ugly forces of xenophobia.

During the past year, the Interfaith Contact Group adopted the theme of the Tree of Life as an act of solidarity with the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh USA that was attacked on 27th October 2018 by a gun-wielding ultra-right anti-Semite as congregants were gathering for a Sabbath morning service. His blog posts indicated that he targeted the synagogue because of its support for migrants and refugees. Tragically, it was not the last terrorist assault against a house of worship. On 15th March, the worshippers at two mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand were attacked by another gun-wielding extremist in the midst of Friday prayers, and on Easter Sunday, three churches and four hotels in Colombo, Sri Lanka were targeted in a series of suicide bomb attacks. Of course, there have been many more assaults against synagogues, mosques and churches since – not least, in Halle, in Germany, just over six weeks ago, when an ultra-right extremist attempted to break into the synagogue there on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, the most sacred day of the Jewish year.

It is hard in the face of hate-fuelled violence not to give in to despair. But we must not. The tree of life beckons us to join our hands together around its trunk and shelter together beneath its branches. The symbolism of the tree of life reminds us of our connections with one another and our firm roots in the earth that is our home and that we are committed to protecting. The first reference to the tree of life is found in the Torah in the Book of Genesis, in the account of the Garden of Eden: ‘The Eternal God planted a garden eastward, in Eden; and there, God put the human whom God had formed. And out of the ground, the Eternal God caused to grow every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food; and the tree of life in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil’ (Genesis 2:8-9). Specifically, commanded not to eat of ‘the tree of knowledge of good and evil’ (2:17), If we follow the story, which seems to focus on what happens when the first human beings transgress that command (Genesis 3), it’s easy to ignore the powerful symbolism of the tree of life in the midst of the garden. If we become preoccupied with the forces of nihilism and destruction all around us in our world today, we are in danger of ignoring the tree of life in our own midst.

In the Book of Proverbs in the Hebrew Bible, we read that wisdom ‘is a Tree of Life to those who grasp it and all who cling to it find happiness. Its ways are ways of pleasantness and all its paths are peace’ (3:18). The liturgy of the Torah reading service which includes this verse when the Torah scroll is returned to the Holy Ark [aron ha-kodesh] identifies ‘wisdom’, hochmah, as Torah, the ‘teaching’ of the Eternal One. Whether one prefers to think in terms of ‘wisdom’ or ‘teaching’ – or, indeed, imagine the tree of life in another way – let us take up the invitation to grasp it with both hands and to plant trees for the sake of the Earth and all the forms of life that inhabit this planet with us; our only home.

I would like to close by singing the verse from Proverbs (3:18) together with the penultimate verse of the Book of Lamentations (5:21), both of which accompany the closure of the Ark doors at the end of the Torah reading service. I will sing the verses more than once, so please follow the words you can see on the screen and join in with me, when you feel comfortable.

Eitz chayyim hi la-machazikim bah, v’tom’cheha m’ushar. D’racheha darchei no’am, v’chol n’tivoteha shalom. Hashivenu, Adonai, eilecha v’nashuvah, chaddeish yameinu k’kedem.

עֵץ חַיִּים הִיא לַמַּחֲזִיקִים בָּהּ. וְתמְכֶיהָ מְאֻשָּׁר:
דְּרָכֶיהָ דַרְכֵי נעַם וְכָל נְתִיבותֶיהָ שָׁלום:[1]
הֲשִׁיבֵנוּ ה’ אֵלֶיךָ וְנָשׁוּבָה. חַדֵּשׁ יָמֵינוּ כְּקֶדֶם:[2]

It is a tree of life for those who grasp it, and all who cling to it find happiness. Its ways are ways of pleasantness, and all of its paths are peace. ​

Return us to you, Eternal One, then we shall return, renew our days as of old.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton & Hove Interfaith Contact Group Annual Service

Stanford Avenue Methodist Church

24th November 2019

  1. Proverbs 3:18 ↑

  2. Lamentations 5:21 ↑

DEEP CALLS TO DEEP – ETS & SR – LJS

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8.00 Alex’s introduction (5 minutes)

8.05 Elli – background / context followed by overview of paper (20 minutes)

Background/context

  • Good evening, everyone. As with the previous session in this series, my contribution this evening relates to a paper I wrote in the context of a Jewish Christian dialogue group facilitated by Rabbi Tony Bayfield that was made up of participants with a background in Interfaith dialogue.
  • The aim the group at the outset was to produce and publish a book that would contribute to a new understanding of Jewish Christian encounter that would inform the work of the Council of Christians and Jews. The plan for the group was that it would involve a three-year commitment for all of us. In the end, the work of finalising the book meant that the commitment lasted four years.
  • Assigned the topic of providing a Jewish response to the theme of ‘The Third Dialogue Partner: How Do We Experience Modern Western Culture?’ I had the difficult task of writing and presenting the first paper that was destined to be the first chapter of the book. The task was difficult because as I approached the paper, I did not have the benefit of having heard the contributions of the other participants. The task was also difficult because I was aware that this group of Jews and Christians encompassed those who came from the traditional end of the spectrum as well as those from the progressive end, so, my paper, by definition was likely to be very challenging to the traditionalists. As it happens, when I gave my paper one of the Orthodox Jewish participants took exception to what I was saying in rather aggressive tones to say the least. It was a testing moment and a very uncomfortable experience for me.
  • Fortunately, by contrast, my pairing with Dr Stephen Roberts proved to be a very positive, fruitful and mutually respectful encounter. I enjoyed our meetings and my contribution to the book was enhanced and deepened by our exchanges. It was a pleasure for me to meet up with Stephen a few weeks ago to plan this session.

Overview of my paper: Liberating Individuals and Challenging Communities

  • One of the main arguments of my paper is that Judaism has changed over time, right from the beginning – although in its early formation, it could not be called ‘Judaism’– with key watersheds along the way.
  • The most transformational watershed prior to Modernity was the development of Rabbinic Judaism following the destruction of Jerusalem and the last Temple by the Romans in 70 CE. During Temple times, worship centred on a sacrificial cult presided over by priests. After the last Temple was destroyed, a new leadership of learning reconstructed Jewish life. Drawing on the teachings of the Torah, the rabbis formulated an entirely new way of putting the Torah into practice, centred on the home and the synagogue, and on the individual’s responsibility for keeping the mitzvot – the commandments – originally outlined in the Torah, which the rabbis interpreted and made practicable in the context of daily life. The rabbis spoke of the halakhah – based on the Hebrew root, Heh – Lamed – Kaf, ‘to go’ or ‘to walk’ – which in the Aramaic form used in the Talmud, hilkhata, came to mean ‘law’. So, in this context, ‘Judaism’ was about following the law, set out in the Torah and expounded by the rabbis. Judaism became a way of life.
  • The French Revolution of 1789 was the next transformational watershed in Jewish existence, precipitating three principal Jewish responses – none of which existed before the dawn of modernity: Progressive Judaism (encompassing Liberal and Reform varieties)[1]; Conservative Judaism; and Orthodox Judaism (an umbrella term encompassing differing approaches from the modern stance of Samson Raphael Hirsch through ultra-orthodox forms of expression).[2] Broadly speaking, Progressive Judaism responded positively, both, to enlightenment and to political emancipation, embracing democratic values and the empowerment of the individual. Meanwhile, Conservative and modern Orthodox Judaism, which both developed in Germany in the 1850s as a reaction to the more liberal religious positions taken by Progressive Judaism, endorsed a form of Jewish life, whereby an individual could be ‘a Jew at home and a human being in the street.’[3] Ultra-Orthodox Judaism, by contrast, in the absence of the ghetto walls, sought to strengthen ‘the fence round the Torah’,[4] in an attempt to insulate Jewish life and protect it from erosion by the wider society, which had become more open and accessible.
  • A segregated ghetto existence had for hundreds of years ensured Jewish communal stability and continuity by supporting a system of social control inherent in the practice of halakhah. The emergence of Modernity disrupted the social order by bringing down the ghetto walls and introducing a new agent into society: the empowered individual. As Jewish communities were no longer required to dwell alone and apart, so individuals were free to roam beyond the confines of Jewish life and explore new opportunities to realise their personal hopes and dreams.
  • Of the threat to traditional Jewish life, Modernity’s challenge to communal authority over the lives of individuals had the potential to wreak the greatest havoc. It is not surprising that one powerful response was the development of Orthodox Judaism – an attempt to limit the threat of modernity by reinforcing the limits and boundaries around Jewish life. This response remains powerful and effective to this day. Indeed, it might be argued that after more than two centuries of flux and change and the continuing generation of a multiplicity of choices for individuals, ultra-Orthodoxy, in particular, has become an attractive and safe solution to the complexities of modern life for those individuals who seek to orientate their lives and find a coherent path in the face of a plurality of options, ideas and truths.
  • The resurgence of Orthodoxy also has something to do with the underside of Modernity, the assault on meaning and traditional approaches to meaning-making. Alongside the new opportunities, open vistas and stimulating developments in human knowledge – in particular, the scientific revolution – Modernity has also brought in its wake a materialist impulse that has threatened to reduce human existence to material factors and a plethora of forms of measurable data. Of course, the lives of people in modern culture have benefited hugely from advances in technology and material prosperity. But as individuals have been transformed into consumers, driven to accumulate more and more must-have products, paradoxically, increasing consumption has generated an existential sense of emptiness. In 1976, four years before his death, Erich Fromm, a Jewish psychoanalyst and social reformer, who was born Frankfort in 1900 and immigrated to the United States in 1933 when Hitler came to power, published a book, entitled, To Have or To Be?[5] Fromm argues that people in today’s world no longer say ‘I am’, but rather ‘I have’. It’s not just that our material possessions dominate our existence, having is also the way we relate to the people we know and the people we love. Fromm points out that, in Hebrew, there is no verb to express ‘having’. If I want to say ‘I have’, I must say, yesh li, ‘it is to me’[6] He suggests that the word for “to have is absent… in societies with predominantly functional property, that is, possession for use.”[7]
  • Fromm’s observation about language hints at the trauma that people experienced as the mode of existence shifted from ‘being’ to ‘having’ at the beginning of the Industrial Age. In 1844, as the new industrial order was reaching its zenith, Karl Marx argued in his Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts[8] that with the advent of mass production, workers, who were no longer engaged in creating things with their own hands from start to finish, became alienated from their human essence as creative beings. Before the advent of manufacturing, the objects that people made were extensions of themselves, bearing the stamp of each person’s individual personality.
  • We cannot ignore the underside of Modernity, but on the other hand, the opportunities it has created have been immeasurable. Inspired by the new spirit of freedom, Progressive Judaism has embraced those opportunities, not least the opportunity to reconstruct Jewish teaching and practice ‘to satisfy the needs of the age’, as Lily Montagu, one of the founders of Liberal Judaism in this country put it in 1899 in her work, ‘Spiritual Possibilities of Judaism Today’:[9]
  • As signalled by the rallying cry of the French Revolution: Liberté, égalité, fraternité, one of the key values and goals of Modernity is equality. Over the course of the 20th century, the commitment to satisfying the needs of the age that had put equality at the top of the agenda, extended beyond the equal treatment of men and women in synagogue life and the leadership of women rabbis to the equal treatment of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender Jews, including the leadership of LGBT rabbis.
  • In recent years, Progressive Judaism has also responded to the needs of the age in recent years in the arena of the impact of mass consumerism and globalisation. Liberal Judaism’s policy on Ethical Eating[10] is a good example of a response that brings commitment to fair-trade, animal welfare and organic food production together with a reinterpretation of the Jewish dietary laws that emphasises ethical and universalistic values, while maintaining a distinctive Jewish approach.
  • Another important opportunity grasped by Progressive Judaism has been the potential for individual Jews to make meaning and commit themselves to Jewish life. Liberal Judaism, in particular, and Progressive Judaism in general, is committed through the provision of quality education to enabling Jews to make informed choices. Of course, there is a threat inherent in the freedom of the individual to choose – they may choose not to engage; they may choose to opt out of Jewish life.
  • But as it happens, increasingly, individual Jews, making informed choices, are choosing to engage – and not just as Progressive Jews: Modern society has enabled individual Jews to be Jewish in their own ways. In addition to denominational allegiances, there are secular Jews, humanist Jews, Socialist Jews, Zionist Jews, Buddhist Jews,[11] New Age Jews, Renewal Jews,[12] Eco-Jews, and so on – many of whom cross fertilise from these different varieties of ways of being Jewish, as they forge their own sense of what it is to be a Jew. Then there are also Jews, who are not born Jewish, who choose to become Jews, as well as those who are not Jews, either by birth or choice, but who choose to walk along some of the paths of Jewish life and engage with their own selection of Jewish teaching and practice.[13]
  • Of course, the proliferation of individual Jews choosing their own Jewish ways has an impact on the Jewish community. Jewish congregations that open their doors to individuals are in the process of change. Where will these changes lead? Will multiple expressions of Jewish life give rise to multiple Judaisms? Has ‘the Jewish people’ already become ‘many Jewish peoples’? The impact is not only internal – internal to the synagogue; internal to the Jewish world. Those who come in from the outside, as it were, bring more than themselves, as individuals, to congregational life. They also take the world within with them outside – and create bridges between the congregation and wider society. So, as the congregation looks outwards, engagement and alliances with other communities become possible – with different religious, spiritual and faith groups, with people with different ethnicities, with a variety of organisations and interest groups.
  • Modernity has ushered in threats and challenges and opportunities – and the clash between traditional and progressive worldviews continues to play out the battle between the old and new worlds ushered in by the rise of the new world. The ultimate outcome is unknown and unknowable. What is clear is that, whatever side you’re on, modern culture is a real presence, and with the exception of religious denominations that withdraw completely from society, none of the forms of Judaism or Christianity extant today – or any of the other faiths for that matter – would be the same without it.
  • My chapter concludes with those words, but I want to end the overview of my paper with a more hopeful vision. In my view, the greatest gift of Modernity holds out the greatest promise for the future: empowered individuals choosing to take responsibility for their own lives, forming alliances with one another and building faith communities and multicultural and interfaith communities rooted in a commitment to ethical engagement and social justice, mutual respect and the imperative to repair the world.

8.25 Stephen – overview of paper (15 minutes)

8.40 Elli – subsequent reflections (5 minutes)

Challenges of Modernity:

  • Individuals are challenged to make meaning to connect the lives of the lives of others in the communities around them.
  • Communities are challenged to empower and enable individuals within the community – and to connect with communities.
  • Vigil today at Sussex University for those killed, maimed and bereaved in Sri Lanka on Easter Sunday, provided for me a potent example of individuals connecting with one another in a community context. Organised by the multifaith chaplaincy, the Vigil involved supporting Sri Lankan students, individually and collectively, and brought together students from across the religious, ethnic and cultural spectrum.

8.45 Stephen – subsequent reflections (5 minutes)

8.50 Q&A (10 minutes)

9.00 Elli introduces Exodus 25.1-8

  • Study of our sacred texts was an integral feature of our dialogue meetings.
  • I’ve chosen this text, the opening verses of the parashah, T’rumah, because of what it teaches about individuals bringing gifts of their own free will for the building of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle in the wilderness.
  • The rationale for the building of the Mishkan is given at verse 8: V’asu li mikdash, v’shachanti b’tocham – ‘Let them build me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them.’
  • After Stephen introduces his text, you will have an opportunity to discuss in pairs what these texts may teach us about the relationship between the individual and the community in the modern world.

Stephen introduces Ephesians 5 (or 1 Corinthians 12)

9.05 Discussion of texts in pairs (10 minutes)

9.15 Feedback and final reflections (10 minutes)

9.25 Alex – conclusion

  1. Please note: ‘Progressive’, ‘Liberal’, ‘Conservative’, ‘Orthodox’, with an upper-case initial letter – as distinct from ‘progressive’, ‘liberal’, etc. Progressive Judaism is a generic term and the World Union of Progressive Judaism, founded in 1926 is the international body that encompasses a variety of movements designated as ‘Liberal’ and ‘Reform’. The use of the terms, ‘Liberal’ and ‘Reform’ can be rather confusing. There are two progressive movements in Britain: Liberal Judaism and the Movement for Reform Judaism. Liberal Judaism’s sister movement in the USA is known as Reform Judaism. In the USA, a third progressive movement known as ‘Reconstructionism’, founded by Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan (1881–1983) emerged in the late 1920s. ↑

  2. German Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (20 June 20 1808 – 31 December 1888) is best known as the intellectual founder of the Torah im Derech Eretz (Torah with ‘the way of the land’ school of contemporary Orthodox Judaism. Note that Chassidism, while considered among the ‘ultra-othodox’ forms of Judaism today, developed as an entirely separate populist pietistic movement in the pre-modern setting of 18th century Eastern Europe. ↑

  3. This expression is attributed to Yehudah Leib Gordon, 1831-1892, the most important Hebrew poet of the nineteenth century and a leading figure of the Russian Haskalah (Jewish Enlightenment). ↑

  4. See Pirkey Avot, The Sayings of the Sages, 1:1 (appended to the Mishnah, order Nezikin, edited c. 200CE). ↑

  5. To Have or to Be? by Erich Fromm. Abacus, London, 1979. ↑

  6. Ibid p.32. ↑

  7. Ibid ↑

  8. The Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844 by Karl Marx. Also known as The Paris Manuscripts of 1844. First published in 1932. ↑

  9. Published in the Jewish Quarterly Review, 1899. ↑

  10. Ethical Eating is written by Rabbi Janet Burden in the Liberal Judaism in Practice leaflet series (Liberal Judaism, 2007) ↑

  11. So many Jews now choose to become Buddhists there is even a name for them: ‘JUBUs’. See The Jew in the Lotus by Rodger Kamenetz, first published in 1994 by Harper San Francisco, which is an account of an historic dialogue between rabbis and the Dalai Lama. The title is a pun on the Tibetan mantra, om mane padme hum, or ‘the jewel in the lotus.’ ↑

  12. The Renewal Movement first developed in the United States. The homepage of ALEPH: Alliance for Jewish Renewal states: ‘Looking for a joyful, creative, deeply spiritual and relevant approach to Judaism? Yearning for meaningful learning rooted in Torah and tradition, Kabbalah and Hasidism combined with a modern consciousness that is politically progressive, egalitarian and environmentally aware? Hoping for a community that embraces singles, GLBT people and interfaith families? The Judaism you’ve longed for has arrived!’ – see: https://www.aleph.org/ ↑

  13. One such individual, who has been participating in study and other activities my congregation, Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue, for the past half dozen years, once an active member of his local Church of England congregation, now refers to himself as a ‘God-fearer’. ↑

Equality & Diversity Patcham School

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There is quite a lot I could say about equality and diversity from a Jewish perspective.

Jewish teaching about how we should live and relate to other people comes out of our experience of persecution. The rules for how we should act in the world, first set out in the Torah, the Five books of Moses, remind us again and again that we were once slaves and so should treat others with love and compassion. For example, the law code included in the Book of Exodus says: ‘You shall not wrong a stranger or oppress them; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt’ (Ex. 22:20). Another verse, literally, gets to the heart of the matter: ‘A stranger you shall not oppress; for you know the inner being of the stranger, seeing you were strangers in the land of Egypt’ (Ex. 23:9). Another code, in the Book of Leviticus, repeats the same message, and then adds something very important: ‘If a stranger lives with you in your land, you shall not wrong them. / The stranger who lives with you shall be to you as the home-born among you, and shall love the stranger as yourself; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.’ (Lev. 19:33-34).

In the same code, we read: ‘You shall love your neighbour as yourself’ (19:18). But loving those who are our neighbours is not enough. We also have to love those who come to live with us from other lands. Perhaps the reason why this is such an important Jewish teaching is because Jewish experience of persecution did not end 3000 years ago when we were slaves in Egypt. Since that time, Jewish communities across the world have been persecuted again and again and those who were not murdered were forced to flee. For example, my mother’s parents fled pogroms– that is violent riots against Jews – in Russia and Poland in 1905 and came to live in the East End of London. Three years earlier the British government had created a new law, the Aliens Act designed to keep out Jewish refugees, who had been fleeing pogroms for decades beforehand. My own father left Austria 1936 – which was just as well because his father was taken from his home in Vienna in the middle of the night just four days after Kristallnacht, the ‘Night of Broken Glass’ on 9th November 1938, which was the beginning of the Nazis’ violent persecution of the Jews. He was deported to Dachau concentration camp. 30,000 Jewish men were deported and sent to concentration camps after Kristallnacht. After being beaten up and tortured, my grandfather was released on 19th January 1939, on condition that he leave the country with his family. My father managed to get domestic permits for his parents to come to England and work as servants, and they arrived just before the Second World War broke out in September 1939. They then decided to travel to America, and settled in Chicago. My grandfather was so traumatised by his experience that he never worked again, and he died in 1955, shortly after I was born.

So, both Jewish teaching and Jewish experience make Jews sensitive to the plight of refugees and asylum seekers and to all those who are oppressed and persecuted. My own congregation – Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue – makes a weekly collection of toiletries and non-perishable foods for the refugees supported by Brighton Voices in Exile.

Jewish teaching extends beyond how we should treat the stranger to how we should respond to all those who are vulnerable and marginal in the society. In addition to the stranger, the Torah speaks specifically of the plight of the orphan and the widow, and also of those who are poor, homeless and destitute. Ancient Jewish teaching was not so compassionate when it came to sexual orientation and gender. This is because the laws were created at a time when females were completely dominated by males and heterosexuality was considered the only acceptable form of sexual orientation. In the past 40 years, new teaching about sexuality and gender has been developed – based on what is perhaps the most important teaching in the Torah, found right at the beginning in the first story of Creation. We read in the Book of Genesis that every human being is created ‘in the image of God’ – b’tzelem Elohim (Gen. 1:27). God, of course, does not have a face or form. This teaching tells us that each human being, whatever their colour, culture, ethnicity, sexual orientation or gender is an image of God. In other words, we find God in every human being. We are all equal.

Another Jewish teaching reminds us that it is not enough to say all human beings are equal, we have to take action to ensure that all human beings are treated equally. We read in the Book of Deuteronomy: ‘Justice, justice, you shall pursue’ (Deut. 16:20). The Hebrew is short and sweet: Tzedek, tzedek tirdof. Usually, in Hebrew the verb comes at the beginning of a sentence, so we would expect the sentence to be, ‘you shall pursue justice’. The fact that the word justice comes first, and is repeated, puts the emphasis on justice. But the verb is important, too: ‘Justice, Justice you shall pursue.’ To pursue something is to run after it, to chase it, to direct all our energies towards it. We cannot take justice for granted; we have to do everything we can to get hold of justice and make it happen.

Like Christianity and Islam and all the other religions, there are many different Jewish denominations – different expressions of Judaism. Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue belongs to Liberal Judaism, an organisation in this country which is affiliated to the World Union of Progressive Judaism. Progressive Judaism in general, and Liberal Judaism in particular, is concerned with responding to the needs of the age and to the needs of individuals, couples and families. Just as the first rabbis created a new form of Judaism after the destruction of the last Temple in Jerusalem almost 2000 years ago, in 70 CE – a form of Judaism that was not dependent on a particular holy place or a particular land – so, Progressive Judaism created new ways of living Jewishly in response to the emancipation of Jewish communities in Europe in the 19th century. Up until then Jews were forced to live in separate areas known as ghettos, many of which was surrounded by walls, and where they were locked in at night. Emancipation meant that for the first time in 2000 years, Jews were free to own land, enter the professions, and integrate as citizens into the wider society.

Since that time, Progressive Judaism has been at the forefront of gender equality between men and women, and more recently, has championed the rights of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people. In December 2005, Liberal Judaism published a booklet of commitment ceremonies to coincide with the Civil Partnership Act. Liberal Judaism then went on to support the campaign for equal marriage. Liberal Judaism has also provided a home for a series of LGBT+ projects: Rainbow Jews, exploring the heritage of LGTB+ Jews; Rituals Reconstructed, creating opportunities for LGBT+ Jews to develop rituals that express their own lives; Twilight People, a multifaith transgender initiative; and Rainbow Pilgrims, which focuses on the lives of LGBT+ migrants and asylum seekers, who come to the UK.

We are fortunate to be living in a time when ensuring equality and celebrating diversity has become a high priority, and hopefully, everyone who is here today will benefit from living in a society in which everyone and every community enjoys full equality. From a Jewish perspective, the perspective of a minority people that has experienced oppression and persecution and always looks forward with hope to better times ahead, it is wonderful to have the opportunity to join with others to achieve these goals.

I would like to end with two Jewish teachings found in a collection of the wise sayings of the early rabbis that is included in the first code of rabbinic law, the Mishnah, edited around the year 200 CE. We read (Pirkei Avot 1:18): ‘The world stands on Justice, on Truth, and on Peace’. To make it clear that it is our task to ensure that there is justice, truth and peace in the world, another passage states (1:14): If I’m not for myself, who will be for me? But if I’m only for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue

Patcham School, 15th January 2019

Angels in Jewish Teaching

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Angels in Jewish teaching are divine workers.

The English word ‘angel’ conjures up ethereal images of floating beings with wings that inhabit a heavenly domain.

The Hebrew word often translated as ‘angel’ is malach. The noun malach is related to another noun, m’lachah, meaning ‘work’. From the perspective of the Torah, the first repository of Jewish teaching, a malach works on behalf of the Eternal One, and often appears in the narratives included in the Torah as an intermediary between the Eternal One and the individual.

And so, we read, for example, that when Moses was shepherding the flock of his father-in-law, and wandered achar ha-midbar, literally, ‘behind the wilderness’, ‘and came to the mountain of God’ (Exodus 3:1): ‘A malach of the Eternal One appeared to him in a flame of fire out of the midst of the Bush, and he looked, and, behold, the bush burned with fire, but the bush was not consumed’ (3:2). It was only when Moses turned aside to see ‘the great sight’ that the narrative says: ‘And when the Eternal One saw that he turned aside to see, God called to him out of the midst of the bush, and said: “Moses, Moses.” And he said: “Here I am”’ (3:4). The malach; a messenger of the Divine that appears on terra firma.

There is a lovely 18th century poem by an anonymous poet, traditionally sung on the eve of the Sabbath, that speaks of malachei ha-shareit, literally, ‘ministering Divine workers’ – but, perhaps, better translated as ‘ministering (Divine) messengers’. The poem is based on a legend that appears in the Babylonian Talmud (edited c. 500 CE), which relates that on Friday night, two m’lachim (plural of malach), accompany every Jew from the synagogue to their home to see if it has been made ready to receive the Sabbath (Tractate Shabbat 119b). Known as ‘Shalom Aleichem’, ‘Peace Be Upon You’, the poem, refers repeatedly to the ministering Divine messengers as ‘messengers of peace’, malachei ha-shalom.

Shabbat is a day of ceasing from work – that’s what ‘Shabbat’ means – set apart from the six days of the working week. But it is more than this: it is a day for experiencing the world as it could be if we lived in peace – shalom – hence the greeting: Shabbat Shalom. On the eve of Shabbat, the ministering Divine messengers bring a message of peace. It is our task to do the work needed to establish peace in the world.

I shall now sing Shalom Aleichem – but first the translation:

Peace be to you, ministering messengers, messengers of the Most High, of the supreme Sovereign, the Holy One, ever to be praised.

Enter in peace, O messengers of the Most High, of the supreme Sovereign, the Holy One, ever to be praised.

Bless us with peace, O messengers of the Most High, of the supreme Sovereign, the Holy One, ever to be praised.

Depart in peace, O messengers of the Most High, of the supreme Sovereign, the Holy One, ever to be praised.

שָלוֹם עֲלֵיכֶם מַלְאֲכֵי הַשָרֵת מַלְאֲכֵי עֶלְיוֹן 
מִמֶלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְלָכִים הַקָדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא 

בּוֹאֲכֶם לְשָׁלוֹם מַלְאֲכֵי הַשָׁלוֹם מַלְאֲכֵי עֶלְיוֹן 
מִמֶלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְלָכִים הַקָדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא 

בָּרְכוּנִי לְשָלוֹם מַלְאֲכֵי הַשָׁלוֹם מַלְאָכִי עֶלְיוֹן 
מִמֶלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְלָכִים הַקָדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא 

צֵאתְכֶם לְשָלוֹם מַלְאֲכֵי הַשָׁלוֹם מַלְאָכִי עֶלְיוֹן 
מִמֶלֶךְ מַלְכֵי הַמְלָכִים הַקָדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא

Shalom aleikhem, malakhei ha-shareit, malakhei elyon, mi-melekh malkhei ha-m’lakhim, ha-kadosh barukh Hu.

Bo’akhem l’shalom malakhei ha-shalom, malakhei elyon. mi-melekh malkhei ha-m’lakhim, ha-kadosh barukh Hu.

Barkhuni l’shalom, mal’akhei ha-shalom, malakhei elyon, mi-melekh malkhei ha-m’lakhim, ha-kadosh barukh Hu.

Tzeit’khem l’shalom, malakhei ha-shalom, malakhei elyon, mi-melekh malkhei ha-m’lakhim, ha-kadosh barukh Hu.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Brighton and Hove Progressive Synagogue

Brighton & Hove Interfaith Contact Group Angels in Our City Day

10th February 2018

B&HIFCG AGM

11th March 2018

Listening

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Good afternoon everyone. It is wonderful to be here and to participate once again in the annual Brighton and Hove Interfaith service.

The theme of today’s service, as we know, is listening. For Jews, listening is an imperative: Sh’ma! ‘Listen!’ The central statement of Jewish theology and practice, expressed in the Hebrew Bible in the Book of Deuteronomy, chapter 6, declares (verse 4):

Sh’ma! Yisraeil, Adonai, Eloheinu, Adonai echad.

Listen! Israel, the Eternal is our God, the Eternal is one.

Importantly, in the related paragraph that follows, the imperative to listen, is immediately translated into the obligation to act:

You shall love the Eternal your God, with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might. / And these words that I command you today shall be in your heart. / And you shall teach them diligently to your children, and you shall speak of them when you sit at home, and when you walk along the way, when you lie down and when you rise up. / And you shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be for frontlets between your eyes. / And you shall write them on the doorposts of your house, and on your gates.

So, we are commanded to listen out for the voice of the Eternal, and to translate the teachings we receive into practice.

The account of Revelation in the Torah, in Exodus chapters 19 and 20, describes the rabble of ex-slaves huddled at the foot of the quaking Mountain, listening to the voice of the Eternal One. The narrative then concludes at Exodus 24, with the sealing of the covenant between the Eternal One and the rabble who have been transformed in that covenantal moment into a people. The people declare their consent: Na’aseh v’nishma, ‘We will do, and we will listen’ (verse 7).

So, the rabble having become a people in the act of listening; pledge themselves to act on what they had heard and to continue to listen.

But what does it mean to listen to the Eternal One? How do we listen to the Eternal One today? By listening to one another; by listening to the plural voices of God’s plural creation. And acting on what we hear; by practising compassion – rachamim – and deeds of loving kindness – g’milut chasadim.

Since a covenant is an agreement between at least two parties, the listening involved is not simply one way. In the central prayer of Jewish worship, recited three times a day, evening, morning and afternoon, the last blessing of a section of 13 petitionary blessings, begins with these words:

Sh’ma koleinu! Hear our voice! Eternal One our God, and have compassion on us, and accept with compassion and favour, our prayer.

Sh’ma koleinu! Again, listening is expressed as an imperative: Sh’ma! Except with these words the people are calling on God to listen.

During the annual season of the ‘days of awe’ that begins with the New Year, Rosh Ha-Shanah, and concludes with the Day of Atonement, Yom Kippur, these words become a poignant call for God’s mercy, sung with a melody that expresses deep longing.

I shall conclude by sharing the melody with you, which ends with the penultimate verse of the Book of Lamentations in the Hebrew Bible; the verse which accompanies the closing of the Holy Ark, at the end of the Torah reading service:

‘Return us, Eternal One, to You and we shall return, renew our days as of old.’

Sh’ma koleinu, Adonai, Eloheinu, chus v’racheim aleinu,

v’kabbeil b’rachamim u’v’ratzon et-t’fillateinu.

Hashivenu, Adonai, eilekha, v’nashuvah,

chaddeish yameinu k’kedem.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah

Compassion – Interfaith conversation – Chichester Cathedral

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Good evening, everyone. It is pleasure to be here and participate in this Interfaith Conversation about compassion. As I share a Jewish perspective with you, I am mindful of the date. On 18 July 1290, King Edward the Confessor signed an edict of expulsion determining that the Jews of England had to leave his realm by All Saints Day.[1] It was not until Oliver Cromwell extended an invitation to the Jews of Holland in the 1650s that there was a Jewish community in this country once more. [2] Much has transpired during the past 360 years. The last time I was here at Chichester Cathedral was for National Holocaust Memorial Day on 27 January, when we commemorated the kindertransports that brought unaccompanied children from Europe to England.[3] In this way, 10,000 children, mostly Jewish, were saved from the horror of the Sho’ah[4] by the kindness and righteous action of strangers.

Compassion: a deep feeling of concern and care for others. If only there was more compassion in the world. If only people were less self-centred and indifferent to the needs of others. Perhaps, if there was more compassion, there would be less cruelty, persecution, oppression and tyranny. Perhaps, if there was more compassion Lord Dubbs, a former kindertransport child, would not feel compelled to dedicate his efforts to reminding the government of its commitment to allow 3000 unaccompanied refugee children to come to Britain.[5]

From the perspective of Jewish teaching, compassion – rachamim – is a quality, almost exclusively, of the Eternal One.

The Eternal One is essentially unknowable, but of course Judaism, like other religions, makes statements concerning the nature of the Divine and about the relationship of the Eternal to humanity. In the Torah, in the Book of Exodus, in the midst of the narrative of the Revelation of the Divine at Mount Sinai, we read in chapter 34 that the Eternal is “compassionate and gracious, long-suffering, and abundant in love and truth” – rachum v’chanun, erech apayim, v’rav chesed ve’emet.[6]

The adjective, rachum, ‘compassionate’, and the noun, rachamim, ‘compassion’ are based on the Hebrew root, Reish Cheit Mem. And both are related to another noun based on the same root: rechem, meaning ‘womb’. In Psalm 103, we read: “As a father has compassion on his children, so the Eternal has compassion on those who revere Him.”[7] However, contrary to the image of the Divine as compassionate ‘Father’, the compassion of the Eternal emanates from the womb.

So, what of human beings? We read in the first account of the creation in the Book of Genesis chapter 1 that ha-adam, ‘the human’ is created – both male and female – b’tzelem Elohim – ‘in the image of God’[8] Human power is not simply an ad hoc gift of the Divine. The first creation narrative seems to suggest that the human created ‘in the image of God’, is God-like in every respect and has absolute power over the rest of creation.[9]

But there are limits to the power of the human. The second account of creation in Genesis chapter 2 makes it clear that being ‘in the image of God’ is not the same thing as being God. The human, whose domain is now confined to a garden, which the human has the responsibility ‘to work and to keep’, is subject to the power of the Divine, and must not transgress the boundaries imposed by the Divine.[10]

The Book of Leviticus sets out the specifically Jewish way of negotiating our relationship as human beings with the Divine. Leviticus chapter 19 often referred to as the Holiness Code, which focuses on a host of ethical teachings, opens with these words:[11]

The Eternal One spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the entire congregation of the Israelites and say to them: You shall be holy – k’doshim – because I, the Eternal One Your God, am holy – kadosh.

According to the Book of Exodus, the slaves were liberated from slavery in order to serve God. “Let my people go that they may serve Me” is a repeated refrain.[12] And so, we find alongside the narrative of the Exodus and subsequent wanderings, the laws governing the social, economic, civic and political dimensions of society. The mitzvot, ‘commandments’ provide a framework for behaviour and action in the family, in the community, and in the wider world, which includes both ritual and ethical dimensions. Moreover, the law codes in the Torah are not simply an adjunct to the narrative. Significantly, although Jews and Christians share ‘the Ten Commandments’ – known within Jewish tradition as Aseret ha-Dibrot, ‘the Ten Utterances’ – the way in which they are read is slightly different. For Christians, the first commandment is, ‘You shall have no other gods before me.’[13] However, for Jews, the preceding verse constitutes the first commandment: ‘I am the Eternal your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.’[14] According to Jewish teaching, God is a liberator. Created in the image of God,[15] human beings are called to be liberators. Liberated from slavery, the ex-slaves who stood at the foot of Mount Sinai, and their descendants, have a particular obligation to liberate the oppressed.

At the heart of the mitzvot, commandments, is the notion that the Jew, like the human pictured in the second creation narrative, is subject to the authority of the Divine. But this is only the most obvious aspect of the mitzvot. Just as important, the mitzvot centre on action, on practice. Made in the image of the Divine, like the Divine Creator, human beings are destined to create, to be productive, to act in the world. Of course, the underside of our creative capacity is our capacity for destruction. We act in the world for good and also for ill. The purpose of the mitzvot is to regulate our action in a constructive direction. Thoughts and feelings cannot be controlled and dictated, but behaviour can be regulated.

The first rabbis, who interpreted the mitzvot set out in the Torah in order to formulate a framework for Jewish life after the destruction of the Temple by the Romans in 70 CE, identified a particular group of mitzvot, which they called g’milut chasadim, ‘deeds of loving kindness’. In Pirkey Avot, the collection of the wise aphorisms of the first generations of rabbinic sages, which is appended to the Mishnah, the first rabbinic code of Jewish law, edited around the year 200, we read:[16]

Simeon the righteous was one of the last survivors of the Great Assembly. He used to say: ‘the world stands on three pillars: Upon the Torah, and upon avodah – worship – and upon g’milut chasadim –deeds of loving kindness.’

Let us consider for a moment these pillars of the world. Torah: the source of Divine teaching; avodah – worship: the way in which we practice Divine teaching by acknowledging the Divine; g’milut chasadim – deeds of loving kindness: the way in which we practice Divine teaching through acts of loving kindness towards others. The emphasis is on practice; on what we do rather than what we feel. This is spelt out in the examples delineated in rabbinic literature of g’milut chasadim – of which, hospitality to guests – hachnasat or’chim – and visiting the sick – bikkur cholim – feature among the most important of the regular responsibilities of daily life.[17] The mitzvah of g’milut chasadim is the obligation to do these things: to practice loving kindness towards others in need.

The TaNaKh, the Hebrew Scriptures – sometimes referred to as the First Testament – in particular, the Torah and the books of the prophets, includes many exhortations to act justly and righteously – chiefly, towards the vulnerable and the marginal, most frequently designated as ‘the stranger, the orphan and the widow.’ For example, we read in the Book of Deuteronomy, chapter 24: ‘You shall not pervert the justice due to the stranger, or to the orphan; or take the widow’s garment as a pledge; / rather, you shall remember that you were slave in Egypt…’[18] Similarly, Leviticus chapter 19 includes a host of mitzvot that dictate ethical action in all areas of life. It is here that we find the exhortation, not only to love one’s neighbour, but to love the stranger. We read: ‘When a stranger sojourns with you in your land, you shall not oppress him. / The stranger that dwells with you shall be as the home-born among you, and you shall love him as yourself; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Eternal your God.’[19]

V’ahavta – ‘And you shall love’. The same Hebrew expression used in connection with love of the Divine in Deuteronomy chapter 6, in the text that became the first paragraph of the Sh’ma,[20] is used, both of love of one’s neighbour and love of the stranger. Of course, love cannot be commanded. The rabbis translated the injunctions to love one’s neighbour and the stranger into g’milut chasadim – deeds of loving kindness towards others, and tz’dakah, righteous action in the economic sphere.

Tz’dakah is often translated as ‘charity’, but this translation is misleading. The word for charity is based on the Latin word, caritas, which essentially, means love. Tz’dakah by contrast, is based on the root Tzadi Dalet Kuf to act justly or righteously, and is related to the word, tzedek, meaning ‘justice.’ In Deuteronomy chapter 16, in the context of a section dealing with the system of justice and the appointment of judges, we read: Tzedek, tzedek tirdof – ‘Justice, justice you shall pursue.’[21] Practising the mitzvah of tz’dakah involves participating in putting right the injustice of economic inequality. It is for this reason that the Jewish equivalent to Christian Aid is called Tzedek, an organisation which targets extreme poverty.[22]

While the practice of tz’dakah focuses on the practical alleviation of poverty and the redistribution of wealth, the practice of g’milut chasadim focuses on treating those in need with loving kindness. Both centre on action.

So what of empathy? We read in the Book of Exodus, chapter 23: “Do not oppress a stranger, for you know the nefesh – ‘being’ – of the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”[23] In this verse, the commandment not to oppress the stranger suggests that remembrance of our own experience of oppression might motivate us not to oppress others. However, the fact that injunctions concerning the stranger are repeated in different ways, 36 times in the Torah suggests that empathy is not necessarily an automatic response.

According to Jewish teaching, whether or not we feel compassion towards others, we are required to practice loving kindness towards others. This requirement is particularly urgent today in the context of the global refugee crisis. One of the specific expressions of g’milut chasadim identified by the rabbinic sages is pidyon sh’vuyim – ‘redeeming captives.’ Unsurprisingly, given the centrality accorded to the Exodus narrative in Jewish teaching and liturgy, according to the Talmud, edited around 500 CE, which includes the Mishnah, the first code of rabbinic law, and the commentary on it by subsequent generations of scholars, ransoming captives is considered, ‘a great commandment’ – mitzvah rabbah.[24]

The imperative to ransom captives takes on a particular resonance today in the context of the millions of people caught up in deadly conflicts across the globe, not least, in Syria and Iraq. As we think, in particular, of the people of Aleppo, trapped in a war-torn city, subjected to daily terrors and deprived of the basic needs of daily life, powerless in the face of hate-fuelled violence and wanton destruction, it is clear that we have a responsibility to liberate them from their captivity and provide them with a secure refuge.

Of course, it would be wonderful if everyone would feel compassion towards others. However, when it comes to responding to persecution and injustice, feelings of compassion are not enough; we need to act. From a Jewish perspective, created in the image of God, human beings are challenged to use our human powers to practice righteousness and deeds of loving kindness – and to liberate the oppressed.

Rabbi Elli Tikvah Sarah, Chichester Cathedral, 1 November 2016

  1. See: A History of the Jews in England by Cecil Roth. Clarendon Press, Oxford, 1978. Chapter 4, The Expulsion, 1272-90, pp. 68-90. ↑

  2. Ibid: Chapter7. Readmission, 1609-64, pp. 149-172. ↑

  3. The NHMD event at Chichester Cathedral – http://www.chichestercathedral.org.uk/whats-on/last-train-to-tomorrow.shtml – focused on Nicholas Winton’s rescue of 669 children from Czechoslovakia: http://nicholaswinton.com/ The kindertransports brought 10,000 children to England – mostly Jewish – and for the most part from Germany, Austria, Czechoslovakia and Poland. See: http://www.kindertransport.org/history.htm For the programme of the NHMD, see: http://www.chichestercathedral.org.uk/whats-on/last-train-to-tomorrow.shtml ↑

  4. Meaning, ‘devastation’; the term used by the Jewish community in preference to ‘holocaust’, which means ‘burnt offering’, and places the Nazi programme of mass murder into an inappropriate sacred context. ↑

  5. For recent news on this, see: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/oct/08/child-refugees-calais-camp-stranded-britain-ignored-pleas-home-office Support Refugees, A Jewish Response to the Refugee Crisis https://www.supportrefugees.org.uk/ JCORE, ‘the leading Jewish voice on race and asylum’ http://www.jcore.org.uk/ and Tzelem, ‘the rabbinic call for social and economic justice in the UK’ http://www.tzelem.uk/ are among other groups campaigning for unaccompanied child refugees to be admitted . ↑

  6. Exodus 34: 6. ↑

  7. Psalm 103:13. ↑

  8. Genesis 1:27. ↑

  9. Gen. 1:28. ↑

  10. For an analysis of the two creation narratives, see: Chapter 1 Making Trouble from Day One: Re-Reading the Creation Stories in Genesis, in my book, Trouble-Making Judaism (David Paul Books, 2012). ↑

  11. Leviticus 19:1-2. ↑

  12. Ex. 9:1. ↑

  13. Ex. 20:3. ↑

  14. Ex. 20:2. ↑

  15. Gen. 1:27, states that the human being is created b’tzelem Elohim, ‘in the image of God.’ ↑

  16. Pirkey Avot, 1:2. ↑

  17. There are various passages in rabbinic literature giving different examples of g’milut chasadim. See, for example: Mishnah Pe’ah 1:1, Babylonian Talmud Shabbat 127a, ↑

  18. Deuteronomy 24:17-18a. ↑

  19. Lev. 19:33-35. The commandment to ‘love your neighbour’ is found at verse 18. ↑

  20. Deut. 6:4-9. Recited daily in evening morning services, known as the Sh’ma, because it begins: Sh’ma! Yisraeil: Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad – ‘Listen! Israel: the Eternal is our God, the Eternal is One.’ It continues: ‘You shall love the Eternal One your God, with all your heart, and with all your being, and with all your might.’ ↑

  21. Deut. 16:20. ↑

  22. See: http://tzedek.org.uk/ ↑

  23. Ex. 23:9. ↑

  24. The reason: ‘…because captivity is worse than starvation or death’ (Babylonian Talmud, Bava Batra 8b). ↑

Jewish Reflection on Compassion Malvern Faith and Science

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Good afternoon everyone. It is pleasure to be here and participate in this multifaceted exploration of compassion. I have prepared a hand-out of the Hebrew words and their meanings in the order they come up in my talk, which you may wish to refer to.

Compassion: a deep feeling of concern and care for others. If only there was more compassion in the world. If only people were less self-centred and indifferent to the needs of others. Perhaps, if there was more compassion, there would be less cruelty, persecution, oppression and tyranny. A materialist might argue, by contrast, if the economic and political arrangements in the world were not skewed in favour of a powerful few, there would be less cruelty, persecution, oppression and tyranny. I have been asked to talk to you about compassion from the perspective of Jewish teaching, which offers yet another approach. Jewish teaching begins with the Torah, also referred to as ‘the Five Books of Moses’, the first five books of the TaNaKh,[1] the Hebrew Bible, known by their English names as: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy. In the Torah, compassion, rachamim, is a quality, almost exclusively, of the Eternal One – and in some cases, of people with the power to dispense compassion.

I have just mentioned ‘the Eternal One’. Before I proceed any further, I need to say something about the way in which the Divine is referenced in Jewish teaching and liturgy. I shall be using the designation ‘the Eternal’ or ‘the Eternal One’ in honour of the tradition that the name of the Divine presented by the Hebrew consonants, Yud Hei Vav Hei (YHWH) is never pronounced. Significantly, these consonants are based on the Hebrew root letters Hei Yud Hei, meaning, to ‘be.’ Because the name of the Divine is never pronounced, Jewish tradition has dictated that a substitute word is used: Adonai. The way in which this works is that the vowels of Adonai are applied to the consonants, Yud Hei Vav Hei. The literal meaning of Adonai is ‘my Lords’ – hence, the usual translation, ‘Lord’. Misunderstanding that the vowels indicate that the consonants Yud Hei Vav Hei should be substituted with the word, Adonai, some people, most notably Jehovah’s Witnesses, read the vowels with the consonants, and so, mistakenly, have come up with the name, Y’hovah.

Since the root meaning of Yud Hei Vav Hei is, to ‘be’, referring to the Divine as ‘Eternal’ or ‘Eternal One’ comes closest to the meaning of the consonants and to the ineffable nature of the Divine, thus preserving the traditional notion that the Eternal cannot be captured in a name. This is, indeed, one of the central messages of the narrative in Exodus chapter 3, concerning Moses’ encounter with the Eternal in the wilderness at the burning bush that is not consumed by the flames. When Moses demands to know the name of the mysterious presence addressing him, the reply he receives only serves to underline the mystery: Ehyeh asher Ehyeh: ‘I am who I am’ – or, ‘I will be who I will be’; the Hebrew imperfect tense expresses both present and future meanings.[2] The Hebrew itself conveys the ineffability of the Eternal even more powerfully. As Gabriel Josipovici has pointed out, Ehyeh is barely consonantal.[3] Try saying it: Ehyeh…

So, the Divine is essentially unknowable, but of course Judaism, like other religions, makes statements concerning the nature of the Eternal and about the relationship of the Eternal to humanity. In the Book of Exodus, at chapter 34, in the midst of the narrative of the Revelation of the Divine at Mount Sinai, we find a powerful and comprehensive statement of the attributes of the Eternal in the context of Moses receiving the second set of tablets. Those of you who are familiar with the narrative, may recall that Moses smashed the first set of tablets in rage when, returning from forty days and nights on the top of the mountain communing with the Eternal, he saw the people worshipping a molten calf.[4] We read in Exodus chapter 34:[5]

The Eternal descended in the cloud, and stood with him there, and proclaimed the name of the Eternal. /Then the Eternal passed by before him, and proclaimed: “The Eternal, the Eternal, God, compassionate and gracious, long-suffering, and abundant in love and truth; / extending love to the thousandth generation, forgiving iniquity and transgression and error; but by no means acquitting the guilty; visiting the iniquity of the parents upon the children and upon the children’s children, to the third and to the fourth generations.”

Referred to in subsequent rabbinic commentary as ‘the Thirteen Attributes’ of the Eternal,[6] the list balances the attributes of compassion or mercy – the Hebrew for both is the same – with those of justice. Nevertheless, the balance seems to be in favour of compassion: love to the thousandth generation on the one hand; on the other, those who commit iniquity can expect the impact of their actions to be felt within their lifetime – to the third and fourth generation; that is, by their children, their grandchildren and their great-grandchildren.

According to rabbinic interpretation, each one of the statements expresses a different Divine attribute, including each of the two references to ‘the Eternal’, and the reference to ’God’ – El – a word which in the plural is also used in the Torah of ‘gods’ in general – eilim. So: the Eternal, the Eternal, God – three attributes and then: Compassionate; rachum. From the standpoint of the ‘plain’ meaning of the passage – known in rabbinic hermeneutics as the p’shat – reference to the Eternal as compassionate, rachum, constitutes the first description of the Divine: Adonai, Adonai, El, rachum… “The Eternal, the Eternal, God, compassionate….” The adjective, ‘compassionate’, rachum is related to the noun, ‘compassion’, rachamim. There are multiple statements about the ‘compassion’ of the Divine in the TaNaKh. For example, in Isaiah chapter 63, we read:[7]

I will recall the love of the Eternal, the praises of the Eternal, concerning all that the Eternal has done for us, and the great goodness to the house of Israel, which He bestowed upon them, according to His compassion and according to the greatness of His love.

Significantly, in this passage, Divine compassion, rachamim, is connected with Divine love, chesed. Chesed also features in the proclamation of the attributes of the Eternal – ‘abundant in love’ – and there is an important link between compassion and love, which I will explore later. But let us stay, for the time being, with compassion. The adjective, rachum, ‘compassionate’, and the noun, rachamim, ‘compassion’ are based on the Hebrew root, Reish Cheit Mem. And both are related to another noun based on the same root: rechem, meaning ‘womb’. In Psalm 103, we read: “As a father has compassion on his children, so the Eternal has compassion on those who revere Him.”[8] However, contrary to the image of the Divine as compassionate ‘Father’, the compassion of the Eternal emanates from the womb.

In a familiar story from the Torah, in Genesis chapter 43, we find a startling example of the association of Divine compassion with another part of the female anatomy. Having left their brother, Judah, in Egypt as a pledge, Jacob’s sons tell their father that the Egyptian overlord has demanded that their younger brother, Benjamin, must return with them to Egypt. In response, Jacob says:[9]

“Take your brother and go back at once to the man. / And may El Shaddai give compassion for you, before the man, so that he may release to you, your brother, as well as Benjamin.”

From the perspective of Jacob, who has formed his own relationship with the Divine, the hope is that El Shaddai – one of the names for the Divine – will induce the Egyptian overlord (whom the reader knows is Joseph) to show compassion. Significantly, the literal meaning of the name, El Shaddai, which is usually translated as ‘God Almighty’, is ‘God of my breasts’. The noun shad means ‘breast’. So, once again, as with the connection between rachamim, ‘compassion’, and rechem, ‘womb’, the Divine is pictured with a female image.

Nevertheless, it is important that we do not fall into the binary gender trap of splitting the attributes of the Eternal between the ‘masculine’ and ‘feminine’ – in particular, male justice versus female compassion. The crucial point in the dramatic proclamation of all of the complex attributes of the Divine is that the Eternal is omnipotent – all powerful. Both compassion and judgement signify Divine power. As we read a few verses further on in Isaiah chapter 63:[10]

Look down from heaven and see, from Your holy and glorious height! Where is Your zeal, and Your power? Your yearning and Your compassion are being withheld from us.

The Eternal has the power to bestow compassion and to withhold compassion, as the Eternal also has the power to bestow and withhold grace and love – and punishment. Compassion is an attribute of power.

So, what of human beings? The adjective rachum, ‘compassionate’, is used exclusively of the Divine in the Hebrew Scriptures. Interestingly, where the noun rachamim, ‘compassion’, is used, or the Hebrew root for compassion – Reish Chet Mem – is employed in a verbal form, these uses usually evoke Divine action. However, there are examples, where it reflects an asymmetrical power relationship in the human domain. And so, for example, in the First Book of Kings chapter 8, in the midst of King Solomon’s extended plea to the Eternal in the presence of the whole community of Israel at the Feast of Sukkot – Tabernacles – we read:[11]

‘And pardon Your people who have sinned against You for the transgressions they have committed against You. Grant them compassion before their captors that they may be compassionate towards them.’

Just as the Divine has the power to dispense compassion on those who revere the Eternal One, so conquerors have the power to dispense compassion to the conquered – but only because, by definition, the omnipotent Divine has the power to dispose those exercising human power to dispense compassion.

However, there is more to human power than this. We read in the first account of the creation in Genesis chapter 1 that ha-adam, ‘the human’ is created – both male and female – b’tzelem Elohim – ‘in the image of God’[12] – Elohim; a masculine plural form of another word for God, Elo’ah. Elohim is the most common way of referencing the Divine in the TaNaKh and in Jewish liturgy. It is very intriguing that the one God should be represented by a plural noun – but having taken up your time already with a detour into the ineffable name of the Divine, I’m going to have to resist exploring this. So, to return to the main point: human power is not simply an ad hoc gift of the Divine. The first creation narrative seems to suggest that the human created ‘in the image of God’, is God-like in every respect. In the very next verse we read:[13]

And God blessed them, and God said to them: be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that creeps upon the earth.

The human has absolute power over the rest of creation. But there are limits to the power of the human. The second account of creation in Genesis chapter 2 makes it clear that being ‘in the image of God’ is not the same thing as being God. The human, whose domain is now confined to a garden, which the human has the responsibility ‘to work and to keep’, is subject to the power of the Divine, and must not transgress the boundaries imposed by the Divine.

Nevertheless, as the narrative of the first human family demonstrates, subject to the power of God, the human, nevertheless, like God, has the power to destroy, as well as to create: Cain kills his brother Abel because God is more favourably disposed to Abel’s offering.[14]

The creation narratives are concerned, by definition, with humanity in general. It is important to note that Jewish teaching begins with the creation of the world and everything in it, including the human. Indeed, the Jewish New Year, Rosh Ha-Shanah, is, according to tradition, harat olam, ‘the birthday of the world’[15] – and the date reflects the chronologies listed in the Torah. Of course, the world was not created 5776 years ago – 5776 – is the current date, but it is significant that the Jewish calendar begins with the creation of the world and not with the beginnings of the Jewish people.

The Book of Leviticus, by contrast, sets out the specifically Jewish way of negotiating our relationship as human beings with the Divine. Leviticus chapter 19 often referred to as the Holiness Code, which focuses on a host of ethical teachings, including the commandments to love one’s neighbour and to love the stranger,[16] opens with these words:[17]

The Eternal One spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the entire congregation of the Israelites and say to them: You shall be holy – k’doshim – because I, the Eternal One Your God, am holy – kadosh.

The Hebrew expressions for the sacred – often translated as ‘holy’ – are based on the Hebrew root, Kuf Dalet Shin, to be set apart: that which is sacred is that which is set apart. We read in the Exodus story, just prior to the narrative of Revelation in Exodus chapter 19, this rousing declaration:[18]

Moses went up to God. The Eternal called him from the mountain, saying, “Thus shall you say to the house of Jacob and declare to the children of Israel: / You have seen what I did to the Egyptians, how I bore you on Eagles’ wings and brought you to Me. / Now then, if you will obey me faithfully in keep My covenant, you shall be my treasure among all the peoples. Indeed, all the earth is Mine. / You shall be to Me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.” These are the words that you shall speak to the children of Israel.

According to the Book of Exodus, the slaves were liberated from slavery in order to serve God. “Let my people go that they may serve Me” is a repeated refrain.[19] And so, we find alongside the narrative of the Exodus and subsequent wanderings, the laws governing the social, economic, civic and political dimensions of society. Divine service is not confined to sacred ritual, it encompasses human relationships. The mitzvot, ‘commandments’ provide a framework for behaviour and action in the family, in the community, and in the wider world, which includes both ritual and ethical dimensions. Moreover, the law codes in the Torah are not simply an adjunct to the narrative. Significantly, although Jews and Christians share the Ten Commandments – known within Jewish tradition as Aseret ha-Dibrot, the Ten Utterances – the way in which the Commandments are read is slightly different. For Christians, the first commandment is, “You shall have no other gods before me.”[20] However, for Jews, the preceding verse constitutes the first Commandment: “I am the Eternal your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery.”[21] According to Jewish teaching, God is a liberator, and created in the image of God,[22] human beings are called to be liberators, too.

At the heart of the mitzvot, commandments, is the notion that the Jew, like the human pictured in the second creation narrative, is subject to the authority of the Divine. But this is only the most obvious aspect of the mitzvot. Just as important, the mitzvot centre on action, on practice. Made in the image of the Divine, like the Divine Creator, human beings are destined to create, to be productive, to act in the world. Of course, the underside of our creative capacity is our capacity for destruction. We act in the world for good and also for ill. The purpose of the mitzvot is to regulate our action in a constructive direction. Thoughts and feelings cannot be controlled and dictated, but behaviour can be regulated. I mentioned earlier, when referring to the attributes of the Divine set out in Exodus chapter 34, that there is a close connection between the Hebrew understanding of compassion, rachamim, and of love, chesed, often translated as ‘loving kindness’. From the perspective of Jewish teaching, while both compassion and love are attributes of the Divine, when it comes to human action, the emphasis is on our responsibility to perform deeds or acts of love. There are two main Hebrew roots designating love, both of which may be used of Divine love and of human love.

The famous phrase taken from the text in Deuteronomy chapter 6 that has become the first paragraph of the liturgical text, the Sh’ma, states: V’ahavta eit Adonai elohekha b’khol l’vav’kha, u’v’khol nafsh’kha, u’v’khol m’odekha: ‘You shall love the Eternal One your God with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your might.’[23] There is no time now to give you an extended exegesis of this important verse. To be brief, it is important to understand the meaning of the Hebrew. So, the word ‘heart’, leivav, actually designates the ‘mind’, and since there is no sense of the separation of body and soul in the biblical worldview, ‘being’ is a more appropriate translation for nefesh than ‘soul.’ Further, the word for ‘might’, m’od, indicates ‘abundance’. The verse is saying that one should love the Eternal One with all one’s mind, being, and material capacity. So, ‘love’ in this context is not a feeling. By contrast, the identical root for ‘love’ – Aleph Hei Beit – is used to describe Jacob’s feelings for Rachel. We read at Genesis chapter 29: Va-ye’ehav Ya’akov et-Racheil, ‘Jacob loved Rachel.’[24]

When it comes to the other way of expressing love, chesed, which is based on the root letters, Chet Sameikh Dalet, we can also find both human and Divine examples. In the statement of the attributes of the Divine in Exodus chapter 34, we read that the Eternal One is ‘abundant in love’, v’rav-chesed, and also that the Eternal One ‘extends love to the thousandth generation’, notzeir chesed la’alafim.[25] To return, once again to the Jacob story for a human example. When Jacob is about to die, we read in Genesis chapter 47 that ‘he summoned his son Joseph and said to him: “do me this favour, place your hand under my thigh, and commit yourself to love – chesed – and truth on my behalf: please do not bury me in Egypt.”’

Both of these examples of chesed in a Divine and a human context, reveal something very particular about this form of love – that it is intimately connected with deeds. The first rabbis, who interpreted the mitzvot set out in the Torah in order to formulate a framework for Jewish life after the destruction of the Temple by the Romans in 70 CE, identified a particular group of mitzvot, which they called g’milut chasadim, ‘deeds of loving kindness’. In Pirkey Avot, the collection of the wise aphorisms of the first generations of rabbinic sages, which is appended to the Mishnah, the first rabbinic code of Jewish law, edited around the year 200, we read:[26]

Simeon the righteous was one of the last survivors of the Great Assembly. He used to say: ‘the world stands on three pillars: Upon the Torah, and upon avodah – worship – and upon g’milut chasadim –deeds of loving kindness.’

This is the second paragraph of Pirkey Avot. Pirkey Avot is arranged chronologically. The first paragraph states that: “Moses received Torah from Sinai and handed on to Joshua, Joshua to the elders, and the elders to the prophets. And the prophets handed it on to the members of the Great Assembly, K’neset ha-G’dolah.” This is the line of transmission as understood by the rabbis – note the conspicuous absence of any mention of the priests. So, from the mouths of the prophets, with railed against injustice and exhorted the people to act righteously, here we have Simeon the righteous, ‘one of the last survivors of the Great Assembly’ declaring that ‘the world stands on three pillars: Upon the Torah, upon avodah – worship – and upon g’milut chasadim – deeds of loving kindness.’

Let us consider for a moment these pillars of the world. Torah: the source of Divine teaching; avodah – worship: the way in which we practice Divine teaching by acknowledging the Divine; g’milut chasadim – deeds of loving kindness: the way in which we practice Divine teaching through acts of loving kindness towards others. The emphasis is on practice; on what we do rather than what we feel. This is spelt out in the examples delineated in rabbinic literature of g’milut chasadim – of which, hospitality to guests – hachnasat or’chim – and visiting the sick – bikkur cholim – feature among the most important of the regular responsibilities of daily life.[27] The mitzvah of g’milut chasadim is the obligation to do these things: to practice loving kindness towards others in need.

The TaNaKh, in particular, the Torah and the books of the prophets, includes many exhortations to act justly and righteously – chiefly, towards the vulnerable and the marginal – most frequently designated as ‘the stranger, the orphan and the widow.’ For example, we read in the Book of Deuteronomy, chapter 24: “You shall not pervert the justice due to the stranger, or to the orphan; or take the widow’s garment as a pledge; / rather, you shall remember that you were slave in Egypt…”[28] Similarly, Leviticus chapter 19 includes a host of mitzvot that dictate ethical action in all areas of life. It is here that we find the exhortation, not only to love one’s neighbour, but to love the stranger. We read: “When a stranger sojourns with you in your land, you shall not oppress him. / The stranger that dwells with you shall be as the home-born among you, and you shall love him as yourself; for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Eternal your God.”[29]

V’ahavta – ‘And you shall love’. The same Hebrew word used in connection with love of the Divine in Deuteronomy chapter 6, in the text that became the first paragraph of the Sh’ma, is used, both of love of one’s neighbour and love of the stranger. Of course, love cannot be commanded. The rabbis translated the injunctions to love one’s neighbour and the stranger into g’milut chasadim – deeds of loving kindness towards others, and tz’dakah, righteous action in the economic sphere, often translated as ‘charity’.

But this translation is misleading. The word for charity is based on the Latin word, caritas, which essentially, means love. Tz’dakah by contrast, is based on the root Tzadi Dalet Kuf to act justly or righteously, and is related to the word, tzedek, meaning ‘justice.’ In Deuteronomy chapter 16, in the context of a section dealing with the system of justice and the appointment of judges, we read: Tzedek, tzedek tirdof – ‘Justice, justice you shall pursue.’[30] Practising the mitzvah of tz’dakah involves participating in putting right the injustice of economic inequality. It is for this reason that the Jewish equivalent to Christian Aid is called Tzedek, an organisation which targets extreme poverty.[31]

While the practice of tz’dakah focuses on the practical alleviation of poverty and the redistribution of wealth, the practice of g’milut chasadim focuses on treating those in need with loving kindness. Both centre on action. The importance of both is conveyed powerfully in a passage from the Book of Isaiah chapter 58, which is read in synagogues across all denominations on the morning of Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. In the midst of our fasting on Yom Kippur – to be precise, around 18 hours into the fast, when everyone is feeling extremely hungry, we read:[32]

Is this the fast I choose, a day for human beings to afflict themselves? Is it bowing the head like a bulrush and lying in sackcloth and ashes? Do you call that a fast, a day which is favourable to the Eternal One? / Is not this the fast I choose: to release the shackles of injustice, to undo the fetters of bondage, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every chain? / Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and to bring the homeless poor into your home? When you see the naked, to clothe them, and never to hide yourself from your own kin?

It seems that I have strayed from the subject matter – compassion. Yes and no. Yes, because, as I have indicated, in Jewish teaching compassion is an expression of power – usually, Divine power. On the other hand, as I hope I have demonstrated, the mitzvot, commandments, transferred by the first rabbis from the Torah into a framework of rules for Jewish life, function to regulate human behaviour in the service, of the Divine and of humanity. We read in the Book of Exodus, chapter 23: “Do not oppress a stranger, for you know the nefesh of the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”[33] As I indicated earlier, the literal translation of nefesh is ‘being’. In this verse, the commandment not to oppress the stranger suggests that remembrance of our own experience of oppression might motivate us not to oppress others. However, the fact that injunctions concerning the stranger are repeated in different ways, 36 times in the Torah suggests quite the opposite: that those who have experienced oppression in the past and survived it might be inclined to bury their experience and harden their hearts towards others in need in the here and now. In reality, people react in different ways to their own experience of hardship – some may be more aware of the needs of the marginal and the vulnerable, and others may turn their backs. The point is that we when it comes to people in need, we cannot rely on people’s feelings to do what is right and just. We need rules and regulations to guide us to engage in righteous and ethical conduct.

So, from a Jewish perspective, whether or not we feel compassion towards others, we are required to practice loving kindness towards those in need. This requirement is particularly urgent today in the context of the global refugee crisis. One of the specific expressions of g’milut chasadim identified by the rabbinic sages is pidyon sh’vuyim – ‘redeeming captives.’ Unsurprisingly, given the centrality accorded to the Exodus narrative in Jewish teaching and liturgy, according to the Talmud, ransoming captives is considered, ‘a great commandment’ – mitzvah rabbah – because captivity is worse than starvation or death.[34] Summarising, the Jewish understanding of this ‘great commandment’, the foremost mediaeval Jewish philosopher and codifier, Maimonides, wrote in his code of law, the Mishneh Torah, which was completed in 1180:[35]

The redeeming of captives takes precedence over supporting the poor or clothing them. There is no greater mitzvah than redeeming captives for the problems of the captive include being hungry, thirsty, unclothed, and they are in danger of their lives too. Ignoring the need to redeem captives goes against these Torah laws: “Do not harden your heart or shut your hand against your needy fellow;”[36] “Do not stand idly by while your neighbour’s blood is shed.”[37] And misses out on the following mitzvot: “You must surely open your hand to him or her;”[38] “…Love your neighbour as yourself;”[39] “Rescue those who are drawn to death.”[40] And there is no mitzvah greater than the redeeming of captives.”

The mitzvah of redeeming captives is understood in Jewish texts to apply specifically to Jews who are captives. However, given the emphasis on the just treatment of the stranger in Jewish teaching, the mitzvah of redeeming captives may be extended to encompass all those held in captivity. The imperative takes on a particular resonance today in the context of the millions of people caught up in the deadly conflicts in Syria, Iraq, Afghanistan, Darfur and Eritrea, and elsewhere, who are currently trapped in makeshift refugee camps such as those in Greece and Calais because the richer nations of the world, like Britain, are not prepared to liberate them from their captivity and provide them with a secure refuge. As I mentioned earlier from the perspective of Jewish teaching, the declaration: “I am the Eternal your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery” [41] constitutes the first Commandment. Created in the image of God, human beings are challenged to use our human powers to liberate the oppressed.

As I draw to a close, I would like to clarify the way in which the human being is understood in Jewish teaching. Created in the image of God, the human being is neither good nor evil, but rather is created with the ‘inclination’ to do ‘good’ – yeitzer tov – and the ‘inclination’ to do evil – yeitzer ra. The noun, yeitzer, is based on the Hebrew root, Yud Tzadi Reish, to ‘form.’[42] It would be straightforward, if one could say that all that is required is that people act on their good inclination and not on their evil inclination. But the Jewish understanding is more subtle and more complex. And so, we read in B’reishit Rabbah, a 6th century collection of rabbinic commentary on the Book of Genesis, in a comment on Genesis 1:31:[43]

‘And God saw all that He had made, and found it very good [tov m’od]. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.’ Nahman said in Rav Samuel’s name: ‘Very good’ refers to the good inclination [yeitzer tov]; and ’very good’ refers to the evil inclination [yeitzer ra]. Can then the evil inclination be very good? That would be extraordinary! But without the evil inclination, however, one would not build a house, marry, beget children, or engage in business.’

By indicating that the drive to construct, produce and create is ‘the evil inclination’ at work undertaking action that is vital to human life, this commentary implies that the good inclination is not, on its own, good enough. The insights of psychoanalysis developed centuries later, but what we read in this passage fits in well with the psychoanalytic notion that human beings are propelled by inner drives – and that the drive to create and destroy are essentially one. The wisdom of the system of mitzvot lies in harnessing all our drives to the practice of righteousness and compassion – not least the performance of g’milut chasadim, deeds of loving kindness.

  1. TaNaKh is an acronym based on the initial Hebrew consonants of the three sections of the Hebrew Bible: Torah, N’vi’im (Prophets), and K’tuvim (Writings). ↑

  2. Exodus 3:13-15. ↑

  3. Gabriel Josipovici: The Book of God. A Response to the Bible. (Yale University Press, 1988, p.74). ↑

  4. See Exodus chapter 32. ↑

  5. Exodus 34: 5-7. ↑

  6. The most generally accepted list of the Thirteen Attributes is accredited to two scholars: Rabbeinu Tam (literally ‘our straightforward teacher’), Jacob ben Meir, 1100-1171, a leading French scholar, halakhic authority and grandson of the foremost Jewish mediaeval biblical and Talmudic commentator, Rashi (1040-1105), and David Abudarham (David ben Joseph), who flourished in Seville, Spain in the 1340s, and was known for his commentary on the liturgy. The list of the Thirteen Attributes is as follows:

    1. Adonai— compassion before a person sins;
    2. Adonai — compassion after a person has sinned;
    3. El — mighty in compassion to give all creatures according to their need;
    4. Rachum —compassionate, that humankind may not be distressed;
    5. V’chanun — and gracious if humankind is already in distress;
    6. Erekh apayim — slow to anger;
    7. V’rav chesed — and abundant in love;
    8. Ve’emet — and truth;
    9. Notzer chesed la’alafim —extending kindness to thousands;
    10. Noseih avon — forgiving iniquity;
    11. Va-feshah — and transgression;
    12. V’chata’ah — and sin;
    13. V’nakeih — and pardoning.

    ↑

  7. Isaiah 63:7. ↑

  8. Psalm 103:13. ↑

  9. Genesis 43:13-14. ↑

  10. Isaiah 63:15 ↑

  11. I Kings 8:50. ↑

  12. Genesis 1:27. ↑

  13. Gen. 1:28. ↑

  14. Gen. 4:8. ↑

  15. One of the prayers recited on Rosh Ha-Shanah, begins, ‘Today is the birthday of the world.’ It goes back to the first prayer book, Seder Rav Amram, II, p. 114, c.860 CE. In the Babylonian Talmud Rosh Ha-Shanah 10b, we find: It has been taught: R. Eliezer says: In Tishri [the seventh month] the world was created. ↑

  16. Leviticus 19:18; 19:33-34. ↑

  17. Lev. 19:1-2. ↑

  18. Exodus 19:3-6. ↑

  19. Ex. 9:1. ↑

  20. Ex. 20:3. ↑

  21. Ex. 20:2. ↑

  22. Genesis 1:27, states that the human being is created b’tzelem Elohim, ‘in the image of God.’ ↑

  23. Deuteronomy 6:5. ↑

  24. Genesis 29:18. ↑

  25. Exodus 34:6; 34:7. ↑

  26. Pirkey Avot, 1:2. ↑

  27. There are various passages in rabbinic literature giving different examples of g’milut chasadim. See, for example: Mishnah Pe’ah 1:1, Babylonian Talmud Shabbat 127a, ↑

  28. Deuteronomy 24:17-18a. ↑

  29. Leviticus 19:33-35. The commandment to ‘love your neighbour’ is found at verse 18. ↑

  30. Deuteronomy 16:20. ↑

  31. See: http://tzedek.org.uk/ ↑

  32. Isaiah 58:5-7. ↑

  33. Exodus 23:9. ↑

  34. Babylonian Talmud, Bava Batra 8b. ↑

  35. Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Matanot Aniyim 8:10-11. Maimonides, also known by the acronym, RaMBaM – Rabbi Moses ben Maimon, was born in Cordova in southern Spain in 1135, and died in Fustat in Egypt in 1204. ↑

  36. Deuteronomy 15:7. ↑

  37. Leviticus 19:16. ↑

  38. Deuteronomy 15:8. ↑

  39. Leviticus 19:18. ↑

  40. Proverbs 24:11. ↑

  41. Exodus 20:2. ↑

  42. The root Yud Tzadi Reish, to ‘form’, is used in the second creation narrative: ‘Then the Eternal God formed [Va-yyitzer] the human [ha-adam] dust from the ground [ha-adamah] (Genesis 2:1a). The first creation narrative uses the root Beit Reish Aleph to ‘create’: God created [Va-yivra] the human [ha-adam] in His image. In the image of God He created [bara] it [oto]; male and female He created [bara] them [otam] (Genesis 1:27). ↑

  43. B’reishit Rabbah 9:7. B’reishit Rabbah is a collection of aggadic midrash – that is commentary on the narrative aspects of the Torah (as opposed to halakhic midrash, which comments on the legal aspects of the Torah), and is dated to the 6th century – a century after the Babylonian Talmud was redacted. ↑

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